


ventriculum

by handydandynotebook



Series: axecution [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Complicated Relationships, Cooking, Dead Neil Hargrove, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Recreational Drug Use, Strained Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: “What are you doing?” Billy asks.“Making chicken gizzard soup.” Susan gestures to the pot on the stove.“At five in the morning?”“Couldn’t sleep.” Susan’s hand flutters to the bottle of merlot on the counter. She offhandedly grabs it by the neck and takes a long swig. This is when Billy realizes, holy shit, Susan’s drunk.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Series: axecution [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121561
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	ventriculum

**Author's Note:**

> part 3 of axe murder snafu au. warning for more mild descriptions of fascia. irdk where this is gonna go, this wasn't even the part i meant to write.

“What’s taking so long?” Max demands as she barges right into his room. 

“Would it kill you to knock?” he grunts, watching her eyes widen in the mirror as he rips the packaging off a thick sterile pad. 

Billy misses the staples more than he thought he would. He has plenty of experience patching himself up, he didn’t think he’d mind taking over. But five days into wound packing, he’s over it. It’s a goddamn process, a pain in the ass, the most inconvenient hindrance. Feels like it takes forever and while he doesn’t exactly have a lot on his agenda at the moment, he’d still rather be doing anything else. 

Max trots over anyway, peering at the uncovered slashes a few inches apart over his navel. 

“Whoa. Those look so much better.” 

Billy glances back in the mirror at the clean slices, the moist bed of pink meat dewy between the split flesh. Both wounds are hemmed by smaller shallow punctures where the staples were. Doesn’t really look great to him. Then again, maybe he’d think so if he’d seen what Max saw, his own insides sliding out. 

“Better, but still pretty gross.” Max’s nose crinkles as she cocks her head, studying the slashes. “They’re like weird mouths. Big, weird, toothless mouths.” 

“Well I’m gonna be busy with the weird mouths for a minute and I can’t concentrate with you hovering, so get out.” 

Max totally ignores him and continues staring. “Does it still hurt?” 

Dully but constantly. Billy can deal, he’s no stranger to pain. “No, now go away.” 

“Why didn’t you do this earlier? We’re gonna be late!” 

Billy crumples the sterile packaging into a little ball and throws it at her. It bounces off her cheek and Max looks scandalized. She picks it up and throws it back at him, but evidently hasn’t quite mastered the art of accuracy with her non-dominant hand. It sails right past. 

“Missed,” he taunts. “Now for the third time, get the fuck out.” 

“Can I help? It’ll be faster. You pack one, I’ll pack the other, we’ll be done in no time.” 

“Yeah right, you have one hand and you’re not a lefty.” 

“I’m getting better,” Max insists. “By the time the I get rid of the sling, I’m gonna be ambidextrous. Come on, it’ll be faster, just tell me what to do.” 

“I have,” Billy snaps, exasperated. “I’ve told you three times, this is the fourth. Get out!” 

“What’s going on? I thought you two were—“ Susan breaks off when she pokes her head into the room, eyes zeroing in on his wounds. 

She goes pale and Billy suddenly feels just as awkward as he does annoyed. Max glances between the two of them uncertainly, tugs at at her copper penny pigtail. 

“Can you take Max to school?” he asks, meeting Susan’s gaze. 

“You, um— I-I thought you were going back today.” 

“Changed my mind.” Billy shrugs. 

“Oh…” Susan frowns but she doesn’t press further. “Okay then. Do you have everything you need, Max? Do you want help with your backpack?” 

“Yes, I have what I need and no, I don’t want help.” Max rolls her eyes. “Like I just told Billy, I’m getting a lot better at being a lefty.” 

Max pivots on her heels and scurries past Susan. Susan lingers for a moment, nibbling her lip as her eyes scour over the carvings of open meat. 

“Shut my door,” Billy demands. 

Wordlessly, Susan complies. 

Billy resumes the tedious task of packing. Cuts off the strips of tape he’ll need and sticks them to the dresser in the meantime. Unrolls the ribbon gauze and cuts off those strips too, long enough to fill the wounds. The instruction packet called for gloves, but fuck it, he washed his hands. It’s not like Billy touches any of the raw tissue anyway. After wetting it in the saline, he guides the stuff in with a long cotton swab. Makes no direct contact with the glistening dark pink.

He tends to lower slash first, it’s somewhat deeper than the one a tad higher up. The upper one is slightly less deep but a little wider. Billy doesn’t know what to make of that, isn’t sure why. If it’s due to Susan’s actions with the axe or his own with the truck. 

The sterile pads are puffy, thick to absorb any drainage. There’s been less of that the past couple days. His wounds aren’t that far apart so at five by nine inches, the pads overlap a bit. Billy double tapes the seam where they touch just to make sure they stay in place, doesn’t want to bother changing out dressings any more than he has to. 

He buttons up a shirt, finds his way to the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Drinks the orange juice straight from the carton just because he can, goes the extra mile to make sure he backwashes into it. Susan would have a conniption if she saw. Neil isn’t around to punish him for it, for anything. 

Billy can do whatever the fuck he wants without fear of repercussions. With that thought in mind, he gets one of the tv dinner trays out of the closet. Cuts his coke up right there in the living room, is in the midst of snorting his second line when Susan walks through the door. 

Her jaw drops. She’s just staring at him, eyes as big as an owl’s. Billy’s got a pretty good buzz going, clears his throat past the numbness. 

“What?” 

Susan’s gaze dart between his and the tray as she stutters out some meaningless syllables. 

“I told you I wanted my coke back, what’d you think I was gonna do?” Billy scoffs. “Bury it in the yard?” 

“W-Well…I didn’t expect you to be this blatant about it.” Susan is actually a mite taller than he is but she makes herself look incredibly small when she scrunches inward like that, fingers nervously fluttering over the buttons of her coat. 

“Why not? No Neil.” 

“How about Max?”

“She’s in school.” Billy rolls his eyes.

“Where you should also be,” Susan hums, concern open on her face. “Are you, um…are you okay, Billy?” 

He wants so badly to answer this question by snorting another line. That would shut her down. And he swears he could too, Billy once did an entire eight-ball in one evening. But they’ve actually been able to talk lately, kind of. About things. About Neil. 

“What about you, Susan? You okay?” he returns. “You looked kinda weird last night.” 

He’d run into her on the basement steps around two in the morning, allegedly at the conclusion of one of her cleaning frenzies. But the basement hadn’t looked particularly cleaner than the last time Billy went down there. He went into the gun safe to retrieve his snow and couldn’t help noticing the axe looked different, less blood on the handle. Like maybe that was what she started to clean, but gave up or decided not to. 

“Oh,” Susan says, fidgeting, fingers moving from her buttons to her collar as her eyelids rapidly blink. “Oh, I just, um. I didn’t get everything done that I wanted to, that’s all. I’m okay now…I’m going to be busy. I’m going to start getting rid of Neil’s things today…and as strange as it sounds, I feel a tad guilty about it.” 

“Don’t,” Billy mutters. “How much of your stuff did he break over the years?” 

“…a lot of it,” she admits, lips pursed. 

“Exactly. So do whatever you want with his shit, smash his globe to pieces, snip up his shirts and use ‘em as ass wipes, dump his damn nasty smelling shoe polish down the toilet.” 

“Is there anything of his you want, Billy?” she asks, soft, awkward catch in her voice. 

“No,” he spits immediately. 

“Mm…not even the blanket?”

“It’s gotta be the ugliest blanket on the planet.” Billy groans and tosses his head back. Stupid bald eagle flying over the backdrop of the stupid fucking flag. It looks like patriotism threw up. 

Susan gives a nod. 

What he says next makes him hate himself. “I don’t want it but maybe…maybe don’t throw it out just yet.” 

“I won’t.” Susan’s lips twitch in a weak, wistful smile. “Now that he’s gone, I can finally laugh at how ridiculous it is.” 

“Yeah,” Billy agrees quickly. “That’s it, I just, uh, wanna get a laugh out of it before we put it on the curb.” 

Susan nods again. Billy wants to smash his fist into the wall but he doesn’t. He changes the subject instead. 

“What did you do with the guns?” 

“Oh, um…oh.” Susan sighs out and frowns down at the tv tray. “Honestly, Billy, I’d be far more comfortable answering that question if I didn’t walk in on you doing cocaine in the living room.” 

“What?” he scoffs, taken aback as he gawks at her in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna get all coked up, go on a rampage?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Susan chews her lip. 

Billy narrows his eyes. “Jesus, how scared of me are you?” 

“Not as scared as I was of Neil…” 

And for a moment Billy freezes because holy shit, is that a threat!? But Susan goes on, hands anxiously wringing. 

“Since we’re being frank, um, I’m— I’m honestly more afraid of you hurting yourself, Billy.” 

She’s not threatening him at all. She’s pitying him. It’s so much worse. 

“Seriously?” he rolls his eyes, folds his arms over his chest. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Is it really?” Susan chews her lip. “You do it all the time.” 

“Bullshit!” Boy, if she wasn’t killing his buzz before. 

Susan flinches back from the raise in volume and normally this is the part where she gives up. This is the part where she flees like he wants her to and camouflages herself in the closest corner she can find. Billy is so shocked he’s almost startled when it doesn’t happen, when Susan takes another step closer and keeps talking at him even as her hands wring faster. 

“You drink like a fish.” 

“I have a high tolerance.” 

“You’re a speed demon behind the wheel.” 

“Oh, so you want me to crawl along the road like some old bag? That’d be a waste of a Camaro.” 

“You, um.” Susan swallows and self-consciously messes with her hair. “You reopened your wounds your first night home. It didn’t even take you twenty-four hours.” 

“Only partially,” he protests. “Not all the way. Doubt it was even my fault, backwoods country doctor probably stapled me up wrong.” 

“You’re still smoking even though it’s poor for healing.” 

“Am not.” And this is another one of the oldest, most childish comebacks of all time but he’s utterly over this conversation and he’ll say whatever he has to to get her to leave him alone. 

“If you’re going to lie about smoking, Billy, don’t put the butts in my plants.” Susan pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“They’re not your plants, Susan. They’re funeral plants. That makes them everyone’s plants.” 

“Well I’m the only one who waters them— oh, that’s besides the point. You shouldn’t be smoking.” 

“It’s addictive, sue me,” Billy snorts. “Wouldn’t even be a problem if you didn’t gut me like a fucking catfish.” 

It’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel but he doesn’t care about being cruel if that’s what it takes to end this godawful conversation he’d rather blow his brains out than have. 

Susan doesn’t flinch and flee like Billy expects her to. Her eyes flare bright and her face twists into something he’s only seen from her all of twice before. Anger.

“First of all, smoking is terrible for your health regardless and secondly, you— you tell me something’s fine but then you hold it against me anyway?! What is that? Oh, why am I surprised? It’s a tried and true Hargrove move!” 

And Billy is so stunned, he’s at a loss for how to respond. 

Susan’s anger fizzles, one hand clamping over her mouth. Regret glitters in her gaze and then she’s shaking her head, steps even closer as hands flutter for him. Billy recoils with a low growl. He never should’ve hugged her, never should’ve given her that in, let her think getting familiar was okay. 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m s-sorry, that wasn’t fair.” Susan gives a small head shake. “I didn’t mean it, Billy, I’m just stressed out. I have so many things to sort through and I submitted the death certificate to the insurance company, so we can, um, well, collect. Your father has a decent life insurance policy. I’m hoping the unusual circumstances of his demise don’t delay the payments. And I really am worried about y—“ 

“Jesus, I don’t care.” Billy snaps up from the couch so fast it hurts and snarls instead of wincing. “I said fuck off! Get away from me!” 

This time Susan folds. She lowers her eyes, hands falling to her sides in defeat. Sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and disappears down the hallway. 

Billy frustratedly rakes a hand through his hair. He doesn’t hurt himself, that’s the stupidest goddamn thing he’s ever heard. Susan’s just blowing everything out of proportion. Even if he did, no way in hell it’d be Susan’s right to call him out on it. If she didn’t care when Neil hurt him, she shouldn’t get to care if he hurts himself. Which he doesn’t do, at all. 

Billy can admit he kicked his own ass going at Neil’s truck last week but like. It was worth it just to get everything out. And okay, so maybe he’s thought about ending it on occasion. But everybody thinks about that at least once in their lives, right? 

Hell, he’s also thought about being a millionaire. Doesn’t mean it’s ever gonna happen. Okay, so there was one time when he went into the safe where he. Took out Neil’s handgun. Put the muzzle in his mouth. Billy still remembers how cold the metal felt against his lips, the awkwardness of it against his teeth. But that only happened once and Billy was never going to pull the trigger. He really wasn’t. 

He wasn’t, he just. It was a tough day where Neil left him limping, one eye swollen shut. The day he finally forced himself to quit entertaining the fantasy that— well fuck, he doesn’t need to think about it now. Why should he think about that now. 

It’s whatever, Susan doesn’t know shit. She killed his buzz for no reason. Billy gets his coke and his keys, takes off just because he doesn’t feel like being here anymore, around her, around this. 

Feels good to get fresh air. Get out of the house. Billy hasn’t really done that since coming home a week ago, bar a couple of doctor’s appointments, the latest to get the stitches out of scalp. Laying low at first was mostly necessity. He wasn’t really up to doing much. Then it was just like, being home. Without Neil. And getting used to home. Without Neil. 

He just drives around for awhile, windows rolled down, cranks the music up until it rips right through his eardrums. 

There’s nothing to do but drive in Hawkins, really. Capital of Bumfuck Nowhere Podunk. Christ, this place sucks. He has more energy than he’s had in days and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Doesn’t know where to put it in the middle of nowhere. 

Eventually Billy pulls over and does some more blow off the dash just because there’s literally nothing else to do. Gets back on the road, speeds past some never-ending cornfield and entertains the idea of making a crop circle just to freak some farmer out. 

That could be fun. But then he realizes he doesn’t actually know how to make a crop circle. He could learn, maybe. Maybe not today. 

Billy ends up entertaining himself as best he can for hours just by driving around, makes a few stops along the way. Stops at a pond and throws some rocks, gets a good half of ‘em to skip. Scopes out somebody’s yard to make sure he won’t get caught taking a couple pears from the tree ‘cause a few hours into riding around, he’s getting kind of hungry but isn’t on the side of town where fast food is an option. 

Grinds his teeth against a scream when he has to emergency brake for a goddamn goat in the road, the sudden halt and jerking motion of slamming back in his seat an agony to his wounds. Probably should’ve just hit the goofy looking little fucker. It looks right at Billy with its weird goat eyes like it knows what it did and then calmly clops back to its yard, bell clunking around its neck. 

This is his life now. Surrounded by cornfields and farm animals and something…something else. Billy can’t quite put his finger on it, but there is definitely something strange about this town. Figures it was Neil’s idea to move here. 

Maybe now that he’s gone, they’ll move away. Susan said Neil had a decent life insurance policy. Enough to move with? 

They’re not exactly living high on the hog but they’re not broke by any means. And it’s not like he’d have to live with Susan and Max if they do want to stay here. Billy could just take his cut and go. 

He’s mused about it already. He considers it more closely now. Does he want to go? 

No shit he wants to leave Hawkins, but does he want to leave them? 

Max is a pain in the ass but Billy can’t deny he cares about her. She truly feels like his sister now. She can be kind of cool sometimes too, even though he’ll die before he ever tells her. Feels like it’d be a waste to put so many hours in carting her around everywhere and making sure she’s taken care of just to leave her behind in the dust. Seems like she finally returned the favor too, most likely saved his life, keeping his organs from spilling out and all…

Then there’s Susan. Billy has no idea what to make of Susan now. She still sucks. Yeah, today proved Susan still sucks, trying to get in his shit, acting like she knows the first thing about him, about anything he does. Maybe it’s his own fault for hugging her, opening up the other night, giving her that in. And today too, for asking if she was okay…but she did get rid of Neil. Susan got rid of Neil and that means something to him even though it wasn’t done for him. 

He supposes sharing that secret bonds all three of them. How much trust does that show, that Billy believes wholeheartedly the holes in his gut are accidental and has believed this ever since Max cleared up the details. How much trust does that show on Susan’s part, that she knows Billy knows and hasn’t moved the evidence to a new hiding place even though he has access, could produce it on a whim and put her away for life. 

He doesn’t have anyone else. Neil’s dead. Neil’s parents are dead. He has no idea where his mom is and anyhow, if she didn’t want him then, she wouldn’t want him now. Max and Susan are it. Then again, maybe Billy doesn’t want anyone else. Maybe everything would be easier if he just flew solo. 

Billy lets his arm hang out the window, strokes over the car door as he considers going home. 

It’s Friday. If he fucks around for a few more hours, there’s bound to be a party to crash. He decides he’ll do that instead of going home. 

* * *

This party fucking sucks the way Billy figured school would. The peons keep apologizing for his loss. He’s hungry and horny and Neil is the last fucking thing he wants to think about— he’s done more than enough thinking about Neil over the past week and he’s beyond sick of it —but the apologies don’t stop. 

_Sorry for your loss. Aw, Hargrove, that’s fucked up about your dad. I’m so sorry, Billy. Damn, hope they catch the son of a bitch who killed your dad. Sorryforyourlosssorryforyourlosssorryforyourloss._

Billy numbly accepts each apology and turns it into his own private drinking game. Take a drink every time someone offers condolences, take two if they pat him on the shoulder. 

The questions don’t stop either. 

_How big was the axe? Do you have any idea who that guy was? How did you fight him off? Did you really do it without a weapon? You fought him in the dark!?_

It’s annoying as fuck, albeit better than the apologies. 

So Billy bullshits and bullshits because he’s pretty good at bullshit, and if the questions don’t stop coming he might as well have a little fun with it. Squeeze what he can out of its contribution to his reputation as a badass. Sure, he’s tired of the whole damn thing, but if everyone is going to talk about it, he’d rather focus on the side of the narrative where he’s the hero who fended off some crazed psycho swinging an axe than the side of the narrative where he’s just some grief stricken sad-sack who lost dear old dad. The only person who doesn't take to him about any of that shit is Harrington, who bothers him for all of five seconds asking around about his wallet.

Billy crushes beer pong, of course he does, these hicks are hardly competition. Things pick up a bit when Tammy shares her shrooms. The world goes warm and glows at the edges. 

Someone brings out the keg. The peons chant his name. Billy shows them a king. 

* * *

Billy stumbles in around five in the morning. He’s expecting silence and darkness but the kitchen light shines warm and Susan’s awake, humming off-key to some song he doesn’t know. Breaks off when she spots him, blinking fuzzily. 

“What are you doing?” Billy asks. 

“Making chicken gizzard soup.” Susan gestures to the pot on the stove. 

“At five in the morning?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Susan’s hand flutters to the bottle of merlot on the counter. She offhandedly grabs it by the neck and takes a long swig. This is when Billy realizes, holy shit, Susan’s drunk. 

He’s never seen Susan drink, like ever. Not even champagne on New Years. She sets the bottle down and putters over to the cutting board, waggling her fingers at him. 

“Come here, Billy.” 

Out of curiosity, he complies. Susan puts a meat cleaver into his hand, curling his fingers around the handle. She guides his hand to the cutting board, separating one bulb of slick, pale pink meat ribboned by white from the others. 

“Chop this gizzard in half for me. Lengthwise.” She releases his hand. 

Billy gives her a skeptical look. He doesn’t like her telling him what to do. Isn’t sure why he does as she asks, bringing the meat cleaver down and rending the poultry. 

“It was sort of like that,” Susan murmurs, odd look on her face. 

“Um…” 

“You asked me what it felt like, remember? I never really answered.” 

Billy’s eyes widen as he realizes what she’s saying. 

“Make no mistake, cutting gizzards isn’t an identical feeling. Not identical, no, but the way the meat sundered under your hand? Go on, Billy, do it again.” 

Susan selects another pale pink bulb for him. Billy swallows and chops it in half, this time paying more attention to the sensation when the tough morsels separate. 

“Mhm.” Susan bobs her head up and down, seizing the wine bottle for another swig. “That’s my answer. That’s the best answer I can give you. I killed my husband and it felt like chicken gizzards.” 

Billy pauses as he realizes he isn’t actually quite sure what part of the chicken a gizzard is. Just for shits and giggles, he’s about to ask but Susan’s mouth opens first. 

“I am a horrible person, Billy.”

“Fuck that.” Billy sets the cleaver down and shuffles away from the counter. “Neil was a piece of shit asshole bastard, you’re not horrible for killing him.” 

“I’m not horrible because I killed him,” Susan agrees, bobbing her head between sips from the bottle. “I’m horrible because I didn’t kill him sooner.” 

Billy balks and swallows his surprise. 

“He struck my daughter.” Tears well up in Susan’s already glassy eyes, silently rolling down her cheeks. “I killed him after he struck my daughter. I waited until after he hurt her, I should’ve killed him before he could.” 

“You didn’t know that was going to happen,” Billy says, uncomfortably kneading at the back of his neck. “Neil usually blamed me when Max did something that pissed him off, for setting a bad example or being a bad influence, or ‘cause I was supposed to be in charge of her…” 

“Well you didn’t deserve that either.” Susan taps her fingers against the bottle. “Do you remember when you got your ear pierced?” 

Billy’s stomach tightens like a fist. “Yeah…” 

“That’s the day I realized it wasn’t normal.” Susan seems to deflate. “Up until then, I thought it was normal. There was no shortage of corporal punishment in my childhood, Billy. Not at home, not at school. The spankings, the corn kernels, the rulers.”

Billy presses his lips tight together, hopes she isn’t going to throw some sob story in his face and beg for him to pity her or some shit. He can’t give her anything like that. But Susan does no such thing, just gives a tiny flap of the hand as she continues.

“Oh, self-flagellation was seen as this proper act of devotion, I loved it as much as I hated it, I genuinely believed it redeemed me, made me better…I didn’t raise Max the same way. I couldn’t. Even so, I wasn’t terribly startled when I realized Neil disciplined you physically. A bit saddened, I thought it was too harsh, but not particularly unusual…I earnestly believed it was normal until that day.” 

Billy isn’t sober but if they’re going to have this conversation, he’d prefer to be drunker than this. He winds around Susan and opens the fridge, grabs a beer. Pops the tab. 

“You were thirteen and a terror, always cutting class, starting fights, setting Max’s stuffed animals on fire…” 

“Hey, she hated most of them anyway.” Billy takes a drink. 

“She did,” Susan admits, shaking her head. “That day I came home from work and you had two brand new accessories. The pewter skull in your ear and the cast on your arm. I asked you what happened and you flipped me off, swelled up middle finger and all. I asked Neil what happened and he said, “that hell spawn of mine decided being a hoodlum wasn’t enough, he went and got his ear pierced so he can be a faggot too.”” 

Billy pulls the can from his lips, doesn’t know how he feels revisiting this memory with Susan. Doesn’t like how he can practically feel the pain again, feel Neil’s spittle hitting his cheeks. 

“Then I realized what he’d done and that,” Susan inhales a sharp breath, “that was not fucking normal.”

“I’ve never heard you say ‘fuck’ before.”

“Whoops.” Susan covers her mouth with her hand, tears still trickling, rolling in thin tracks. “Forgive me.” 

“Like I give a shit if you swear.” 

“Don’t forgive me for what I said, forgive me for what I did— no, no, what I didn’t do.” Susan swills some more merlot, red leaking from the corner of her lips. “That’s when I should’ve killed Neil. I should’ve killed him that night.” 

“Jesus, Susan, you’re smashed.” Billy chugs from his own can. 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Susan swings her arm as she paces around the kitchen, wine sloshing against the sides of the bottle. “He broke a child’s arm in two places and I ate my horror, I went to bed with him. If it was always going to end the way it did, if I was always going to be a killer, why couldn’t I do it then?” 

“It’s not the same. You love Max, you didn’t— you don’t love me.” 

“He always had the potential to escalate with her. I waited until that potential became a reality and I’m horrible for it.” Susan knocks her knuckles against her own head. “I killed Neil. I killed that bastard and I was terrified the whole time, but it’s the best thing I ever did. And if I would’ve done it sooner, I could’ve saved all of us years of pain and fear. But I didn’t, I waited, and I let Neil shell me, and scare Max, and scar you. I let it happen over and over.” 

“You didn’t let him, he just did.” Billy crushes the empty can against the counter and wheels around to replace it. “Neil thought of himself as king of the castle, he was always going to do what he wanted and keep the rest of us in line however he saw fit. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t stop him.” 

“Except I did stop him,” she slurs, still knocking herself in the head hard enough to make noise.

“Okay, yeah.” Billy takes another can, nudges the door shut. “So you did. But that was crazy, dangerous shit. You came damn close to killing me on accident and I’m not trying to rub it in your face, but it’s true. Neil could’ve been the one to kill you if things went sideways and then Max would’ve been left with just me— or, y’know, no one, if you did kill me. Or Neil could’ve chopped her up after he chopped you up. Or the cops could’ve come sooner, and you could’ve been arrested.” 

Susan stops pacing, hits herself one more time before she turns to actually look at him. 

“Look, Susan, I don’t believe in shit like destiny or that things happen for a reason. But I do believe in good timing and bad timing. Timing is everything, sometimes.” Billy opens the beer and pauses for a swig. “You pulled it off and you did it without getting hurt, without getting caught. Now, I think that happened because the timing was just right. There’s a hundred ways what you did could’ve ended badly. So don’t think about what you maybe could’ve done years ago, just take the win now.” 

She nods as he speaks, features set in consideration. 

“You’re right. About most of it, anyway…I do love you.” 

“Don’t say that just because you think you’re supposed to.” Billy looks down at the linoleum. 

“But I do,” Susan insists. “Well, I mean, I care about you, at least. I want to love you, you never let me close.” 

He glances back to her, runs his thumbnail around the top of the can. 

“You don’t take care of yourself, you bristle at me when I try, you— you break my heart, Billy.” Susan brushes the tear tracks from her face with the back of her sleeve. 

“Stop. I’m just…I can’t give you whatever it is you want from me.” It’s too much. He’s too tired. 

“What I want from you,” Susan repeats, slow and contemplative. 

“I’m going to bed.” Billy wheels around. 

“C-Can I just have five minutes? Five more minutes?” 

Billy glances over his shoulder. “For what?” 

“Can you mix some seasoning and flour in this bag?” Susan plucks a plastic freezer bag from the table. “I’ll measure it for you but I’d appreciate if you could take care of that while I finish cleaning the gizzards. One less step I have to worry about.” 

Oh, fuck it. Why not. Billy rolls his eyes but takes the bag. 

“Thank you. I just think the flavor is better when they’re breaded.” 

He follows his wasted stepmom over to the counter, watches her measure out the flour and some spices. Susan goes back to the cutting board and Billy agreeably shakes the plastic bag. 

“Cabbage soup the other day, gizzard soup tomorrow. Lotta soup lately.” It’s not much of a conversation starter he doesn’t think, but. He’s trying. At least it’s about something that isn’t Neil. 

“I think spoons are easier for Max right now,” Susan murmurs. 

“Yeah, you’re onto something there. I watched her stab herself in the mouth with that fork like three times when we had spaghetti.” 

“I can’t believe I made spaghetti while she’s in a sling. How sadistic, I’m terrible.” Susan huffs a sigh of aggravation and shakes her head at herself. 

“Uh…you didn’t make it, Susan. One of the neighbors brought it over. I don’t remember which one, don’t ask.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Susan blinks rapidly and flashes him a feeble, sheepish smile. “See? This is why I don’t drink.” 

Billy can’t quite bring himself to smile back. But when he’s done shaking up the bag, he sticks around for a few more minutes. Opens up the egg noodles while she dumps some broth in the pot. 

**Author's Note:**

> idrk how many more parts this is going to have in total but i do know there will be at least one more featuring 1) more max and 2) axe throwing. axe throwing as in the recreational activity of axe throwing, not like murder. that was the part i actually *meant* to write but then me and grandma got talking abt chicken gizzards and this part happened instead.


End file.
